Authors: Fiona McIntosh
She had been naïve to believe Loethar would suddenly lose his brusque manner with her simply because she had agreed to be his wife. ‘Well, I thought you might like me to share your bed tonight, my love. Also I’d hoped you might have told your mother about our betrothal.’
‘I have told her. She is going to offer her assistance, I’m sure. As to my bed, by all means. I aim to be celebrating the end of the Valisar line tonight.’
Why did it always sound as though he was granting her a favour? Smiling graciously, she hid her anger. ‘I shall look forward to it, my love.’
‘Leave me now, Valya. I need time to myself to think.’
‘This must be the first time in a long time you’ll be alone,’ she said tartly as she moved toward the door.
‘Vyk will be back. He’s simply getting used to his surrounds. He finds the forest irresistible.’
‘I wasn’t referring to that bird of yours. I meant the lunatic child you’re so close to.’
Valya couldn’t imagine what she’d said that so dismayed Loethar but suddenly he pushed past her out of the chamber and, face pinched, actually ran away from her down the corridor.
Piven had been attracted by a familiar sound. He had been chewing the sweet scented leaves of kellet. The fragrance had penetrated through to his strange world, reminding him of the woman who had lavished him with attention. She had chewed kellet and so now he copied her. It made him smile. Where were the others? They had talked, then left. He didn’t care. It was warm here. He might lie down among the kellet and its companions for a while.
But a sound had nagged at him. It was the one sound he could concentrate on. Most other sounds were simply noises but this one had resonance, this one seemed to make sense in the chaos of his mind, instantly calming him. And now the sound was calling to him.
He couldn’t see the voice. Standing, he instinctively moved toward the sound. Soon enough he arrived at the forest edge.
Piven was pleased by the soft sun rays leaking through the leaves of the trees. The big black bird was perched on the low branch of the beech tree beneath which Piven stood. He smiled at the bird. The raven stopped its curious chuckling and flew down to settle on the shoulder of the man who also waited.
‘And you must be Piven,’ the stranger said.
Piven liked the gentle voice and, more importantly, trusted the bird.
‘Come, Piven. You no longer need that collar,’ the man said, undoing the buckle of the collar that the little boy had been wearing since Loethar had put it on him.
Piven scratched absently at the red mark that the collar had left.
‘And we must find you a fresh shirt,’ he said, pointing to the bloodstains on the little boy’s chest. The man opened his palm, offering it to Piven before taking his hand. Piven liked the way his own fitted into that huge, strange hand. Its grip around him felt warm and dry and safe. The sensation prompted another distant memory of another man. A man he had spent much time with, who seemed to love the woman who chewed kellet. That man had hugged him almost as much as she did. He couldn’t even remember the man’s face but he recalled it was bearded and kind. And he could hear the man’s voice in his mind — gruff with most but tender with him. Where was that man now? Where was the woman? There was another one he liked a great deal but that memory was gone, the hole filled by the numbers and patterns and the pictures he saw in his mind. Everything was a distinct shape. He could remember shapes. And here was a new shape that he walked next to. He liked the rough feel of the man’s robe now against his cheek and at Vyk’s encouraging caw he skipped off beside the man, beneath the canopy of the beech trees, the sunlight warm and inviting, creating a halo of light guiding them towards the darkening depths of the forest.
Piven did not see the bird pick up the collar in his beak and fly in the opposite direction.
Dusk had given way to twilight by the time Stracker’s men thundered beneath the gates of Brighthelm but Loethar was standing on the palace steps grimly awaiting them.
‘Do you need me?’ Kirin asked.
Freath shook his head. ‘If you see Genrie or Father Briar, let them know. But be very sure not to be seen talking to them. A simple nod will do. They know what we’ve been doing.’
‘Why do I have the feeling the worst is yet to come?’
‘Because it is. Stracker is not stupid but he’s single-minded, driven by more visceral needs. His half-brother’s mind is far more fluid. It flows into the crevices that Stracker’s never could. Be careful, Kirin.’
‘You too,’ the Vested said, drifting away from the main group.
Freath waited, deliberately making himself inconspicuous in the chaos of all the horses and men dismounting. Stracker finally found him. Catching his eye, the barbarian called, ‘Come on! He’s like a cat with its tail on fire.’
Somehow Freath was sure Stracker knew what a cat with its tail on fire looked like. He followed the huge man.
‘Is it true?’ Loethar said, meeting them at the bottom of the steps. He looked directly at Freath.
Freath forbade himself to swallow the lump of fear that threatened in his throat. ‘Yes, my lord,’ he said sombrely, but not without satisfaction. ‘We have brought you back the head of Leonel of Penraven.’
‘How many did it take?’ Loethar demanded of his half-brother.
‘I wasn’t counting,’ Stracker admitted.
‘Er, twenty-nine, my lord,’ Freath answered. ‘I have the record if you —’
‘No, that’s fine. Twenty-nine. Not many.’
Stracker shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have bothered me if it was twenty-nine hundred.’
Loethar gave a tight, mirthless smile. ‘Bring them all,’ he answered.
‘All, sire?’ Freath repeated, hardly able to breathe.
‘All,’ Loethar confirmed. ‘But, Freath, you carry Valisar. And follow me directly.’ He turned and marched away.
Stracker smiled at Freath. ‘He’s not in a very good mood.’
Freath said nothing but moved toward the cart to pick out the single bloodied sack that carried the head of Tomas Dole.
Freath found himself gathered with all of his enemies in the king’s salon. He imagined, with a sour tang forming in his mouth, that Loethar was going to make something of a show of his proud achievement. He stared at the two sacks on the floor, one — the heaviest — still wet with oozing blood. It had taken two men to carry that one in. The other, which Freath had placed on the flagstones, had only a large stain of dried blood on its exterior to show for Tomas’s cruel end.
He stood quietly in the shadows as Dara Negev, Princess Valya and General Stracker arrived. Finally Masters Kirin and Clovis were ushered in. He had hoped they would be spared this grisly scene but he now had to trust them to be of stout heart. He ignored their downcast looks of anxiety.
The emperor, Freath noted, was twitchy. He was definitely angry about something. Surely their ruse had not been discovered?
Loethar offered him a goblet of wine.
‘No, but thank you, my lord. It’s been a day that has set my belly on edge, to tell the truth. I could not eat or drink a thing.’
‘Not up to the life of a barbarian warrior, eh, Freath?’ Valya said, arriving by the side of her husband-to-be.
‘No, Princess Valya. I’m afraid I never aspired to either barbarian or warrior. I am a dreadful coward and hideously squeamish.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Stracker joined in. ‘You’ve killed a queen and you seemed to cope rather well during the death of her son at Berch.’
‘Ah, well, the first was driven by years of rage and I was happy to get my hands dirty. And the second — well, that was one death I did want to witness,’ Freath said, grinning falsely. ‘When the Valisar head rolled, I admit I felt only elation.’
‘We’ll make a barbarian of you yet, then, Freath,’ Loethar quipped. ‘So why don’t you show me young Leonel.’
‘Of course, my lord,’ Freath said, approaching the sack once again. He hoped this was the last time he would have to look upon the sad face of Tomas Dole, who mercifully had gone quietly. The drug had worked well, keeping him vacant and oblivious. It wasn’t hard to paste a look of disgust on his face as he reached into the sack and lifted out the head of the child. Surprised by its weight, he held it up by the hair for Loethar to admire.
‘So this is him. My nemesis.’
‘This is Leonel, the former heir to the Crown of Penraven, yes, my lord,’ Freath said, appropriately grave though with a hint of triumph.
‘Of course none of us would know if this were not the boy,’ Loethar said, looking at the others.
‘I can assure you, my lord,’ Freath replied as evenly as he could as a cold trickle of fear ran down his back, ‘this is Leonel.’
‘We are to take your word alone, Freath?’ Valya said.
‘I’ve looked right around the palace. There is no painting of the child or likeness of any sort other than this,’ Dara Negev added, reaching behind a chair to pick up Iselda’s cushion, which she threw down at Freath’s feet.
Loethar cocked his head and in a careful show went through the theatrics of studying the embroidery, then regarding the head that suddenly felt twice as heavy in Freath’s hand. Finally Loethar looked around at everyone with a softly quizzical expression, although Freath believed it to be feigned. ‘Well, it does resemble him, I suppose.’
‘But that’s about all we could say,’ Valya countered. ‘There is a vague likeness. We have only this former Valisar aide to confirm the match.’
Dara Negev looked around in a slightly exaggerated fashion. ‘Surely there are other servants who can confirm who the head belongs to.’
‘Good idea, mother,’ Loethar said. ‘Of course, the two Vested belong to Master Freath and neither of you would know Leonel of Valisar, would you?’
Kirin and Cloris both looked dismayed to be addressed. They shook their heads as one, but then Kirin spoke up. ‘I was able to help only in locating what I thought was a lie, my lord. And even that almost eluded me. I’m afraid my powers are weak,’ he said, much to Freath’s relief.
‘I have never seen any of the royals,’ Clovis admitted, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
‘Why don’t you both stand over there?’ Loethar said, pointing to the end of the room.
They both obliged. Freath felt a fresh thrill of fear. Loethar was up to something.
‘Good. Stracker, why don’t you pick out, oh, let’s say three other heads that resemble Valisar.’
Freath watched, numb with escalating fear, as the half-brother grinned and went about his grisly business.
‘Shall I take that head for you?’ Loethar offered and Freath gladly relinquished it. ‘And perhaps you’ll want that wine now, Master Freath?’
‘Perhaps I will, my lord,’ Freath acknowledged, realising he had been dismissed. ‘Do you wish me to stay in the room?’
‘Of course,’ Loethar replied. ‘In fact, I insist. I’ve asked your Vested to be here because one of them was helpful in hunting down Valisar. The other is here mainly to keep your trio complete.’
Reading between the lines, Freath realised having Kirin and Clovis present was more like keeping them all together as prisoners than granting them the privilege of attending. Freath moved back to one of the windows. The evening air was a welcome blessing for suddenly the room felt unnaturally warm, his hands horribly clammy. Loethar’s test would soon prove him to be the liar he was and he began to imagine what his blood would look like spilling onto the flagstones onto which his king’s blood had spilled just days ago. If he looked hard enough he could still make out where the stain of it had not been fully scrubbed clean.
‘Right, let’s line them up, shall we?’ Loethar said, the same flash of brightness to his voice that made Freath hate him all the more. He sent a wish to Lo that wherever Leonel was, Lo grant him the years to evade this barbarian and then one day kill him.
‘I think we’re ready,’ Loethar said to those assembled.
‘What is this charade, son?’ his mother queried.
So, Freath thought, he has told no one of his plans. Loethar was certainly an island of a man.
‘Wait, mother, you’ll see.’ He walked to the door and spoke to someone who was obviously waiting behind it. ‘Just a moment or two,’ he said to everyone. ‘Ah, here we are.’
Genrie was led into the rooom by one of the warriors of the Greens. To her credit she did not search out Freath, though she looked frightened. ‘Yes, my lord?’
‘Genrie, we meet again. You won’t be so defiant this time, perhaps?’
‘No, my lord.’ Her gaze kept flicking to the heads lined up. Unable to hold her nausea any longer, she began to dry retch.
‘Calm now, Genrie. I need you to do something for me,’ Loethar soothed.
Freath knew they were lost. Poor Genrie. He could see on her face that she too knew their ruse was up.
Breaking the spell of the moment was a flap of wings as Vyk returned to his perch.
‘At last!’ Loethar admonished his pet. ‘There, you see, I said he’d return,’ he said to the group, as though everyone had been fretting over the raven’s disappearance. ‘Now, Genrie, can you hold down your bile just a moment for us?’
She nodded, fearful. Freath noted that Valya’s gaze was hard and glittering, clearly lapping up the opportunity to watch the young woman suffer and not at all perturbed by the sagging faces of the decapitated heads. A very hard and cruel heart must beat beneath that golden-haired, pale-skinned beauty, Freath thought. Turning from her, he felt his own heart go out to Genrie as she nodded in answer to Loethar’s question.
‘Good. It’s very simple, Genrie. I want you to point out to me — touch it, in fact, so none of us are left uncertain — which is the head of Leonel, son of Brennus. They all look very similar so to avoid confusion, we’re asking you to identify him. Very few people are left in the palace who know him. Master Freath has already kindly and very firmly made it clear which is the head of Leonel so if you’d oblige, it will end all doubt.’ He gave her a soft push. ‘Go ahead.’
Freath felt only admiration that Genrie did not search out his face for a sign. Instead she lifted her chin, gathered her composure bravely and stepped forward. He could see her swallowing her disgust. Glancing over at Kirin and Clovis, he noted that Clovis was haggard with despair, no doubt recalling his own child’s decapitation. Kirin simply looked glazed. Freath understood, looking away, down to the ground. He could no longer watch this.